Among The Embers
by BethanyDee
Summary: Quinn is a seventeen year old girl from District One, trained to be one of the deadliest careers alive. As the Hunger Games approach, she confronts her father, insisting that she doesn't want to be the monster he is turning her into. When she is forced to volunteer, she makes an unlikley alliance. Can she convince the boy she loves that she's not the monster he thinks she is?
1. Chapter One - Dancing With Monsters

**I have decided to upload the first chapter of my new story. I couldn't help myself. I will be updating a little less with this story, as chapters may take a little longer to write. In my other stories, the main character, Phoenix, is very easy to write for. I find it very easy to step into her shoes, and see the world in the way that she would. However, in this story, the main character's thoughts are going to be a little more complex. I want to make sure that this story really shows that.**

**I knew I wanted to write this story for a while, but I was holding back until I decided on what all the main characters should be like. Today, I was sitting in math class, and I thought of a name for the main character. Everything fell into place after that, and I just couldn't wait any longer.**

**So, this is where the story begins. I hope you enjoy.**

**I do not own the Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins does.**

**Among The Ash Heaps**

**Chapter One - Dancing with Monsters**

In my younger and less vunerable years, when nothing was to be questioned and I accepted my fate, my father gave me a piece of advice that I have been turning over in my head ever since.

"Whenever you feel like giving up," he had told me, "Remember that not everyone has had the same upbringing as you. You are important, special, and this is your duty."

He has never been a real father to me, but we've always been usually communicative in a reserved, respectful way. He never gave me much helpful advice, but when he told me this, I understood that he meant a great deal more than what his simple words suggested.

Since a young age, my father has taught me to reserve judgements and be tolerant. At one point, he offered a brief explaination as to why he wanted me to be so mild mannered and reserved, but it has been many years since I believed a single word that escaped his lips. I have learned since then.

My obedient ways have attracted attention from every corner of our district. I despise the attention, but my father loves it. A star in the making, that's what he calls me.

Of course, I don't get a choice when it comes to my future, my father already has it worked out, and elaborate scheme, which involves risking my life, all for his own benefit and financial gain.

I'm his daughter, his flesh and blood, and he would send me to my death without shedding a single tear. Instead, he would be smiling for the cameras and drawing all of the attention he could to himself, while I'm in the middle of a deathmatch.

Unfortuanatley, this petrifying scenario is all too realistic for me. I've been training for that almost inevitable deathmatch since I was a young child. I am what the people of my district call a career.

Even the mention of that name sends shivers up my spine. In my mind, that word equivilates to monster.

I do see why we are labelled as monsters though. We are trained since birth to kill. To the people of District One, we are no better than the peacekeepers that perform executions daily.

It hurts, deep down inside. We've been taught, of course, to ignore them, and regard them as inferior. Yet every time I go to fetch bread from the baker, or pass a message on to one of my father's terrifying friends, I see the looks that I receive, from small children, to elderly people, it seems like everyone hates me. I honestly can't blame them for their stereotypical opinions. I just wish that one day, they would take the opportunity to introduce themselves, or offer me a polite handshake at least. They would eventually get to know the real me, and realise that I'm not a cold blooded murderer.

The truth is, I have no desire to volunteer, guaranteeing me a place in the games. I don't live to kill like my peers. I had no choice in the matter of my future, and so, my life turned out like this.

I probably would have been hated anyways, even if I somehow didn't turn out as a career. People from rich families are always rejected from the community.

I have never felt as if I belong anywhere. I'm just drifting, tied down by my father and his plans.

I should say, after boasting about tolerance, that my patience does have a limit. Ever since I realised that I could think for myself, I've wanted to escape from the clutches of my father, and live a real life. Shortly after that, I realised that it was never going to happen, and that my own plans for my future were nothing but daydreams. The frustration has been building ever since. I'm not angry with the world, just with my parents, who have forced me to grow up like this. At age seventeen, I've already missed out on my whole childhood, and the majority of my teenage years. I blame it all on them.

I turn over in my bed, the sheets clinging to my body, brushing against the smooth skin of my legs. My alarm hasn't gone off yet, but I do not wish to stay in my bed any longer.

Alas, I am not just doing simple tasks today. My life runs on a tight schedule, and with the reaping in just a few weeks, I need to be prepeared for every single aspect.

If I am correct, the first thing I have to do today is have my fitting for a reaping dress. My mother will be taking me to the seamstress, and paying a hefty sum of money for me to look like I stepped straight out of the Capitol.

Where my parents get all of this money from, I am unsure of. We have a small hardware store, just down the lane from our home, which does surprisingly well considering the high prices of the items my father sells, and how poor his customers are.

I never ask, as I have been taught that curiosity can only lead to trouble. How I wish I could be free of the many rules drilled into my brain, dislodge them, just for a day. To live life like a normal tennage girl, whatever that entails.

My alarm sounds, and I know that this is the start of another ordinary day, for a supposedly extraordinary person.

My name is Quinn, and I am trapped in the life that has been chosen for me.

**So, that was kind of a introductory chapter. For those who have read my other stories, you will understand what I meant when I said that Quinn would be harder to write for than Phoenix.**

**Quinn has very different views on things, and has different problems, which will be explored later in this story. Chapters for this story will take longer to write, but I hope you think they're worth waiting for! Be sure to let me know what you think in the reviews, it would be much appreciated.**

**Thank you for reading,**

**BethanyDee x x**


	2. Chapter Two - Preparations

**So, we're on to chapter two. I'm working on the next chapter for the girl who fell down the well, just in case anybody was worried. I've been super busy recently, and I've had no time to write what so ever.**

**Hopefully, I can get back in to my "routine", and update a lot more.**

**Thank you to anyone who has been reading.**

**Chapter Two - Preperations**

My mother is one of those people that you can never fully trust. I've learned to tread lightly around her. One minute, she can be the most loving, caring person that anyone could ever hope to meet. The next minute, she turns into a monster, of which nobody would dare to approach. My father blames it on her pregnancy, but she has behaved like this for as long as I can remember.

I can guess, that today, she is going to be in the latter of those two moods, and I'm not looking forwards to getting out of bed.

I must though, or I will make her foul mood even worse than it already is.

"Quinn! You must get ready to go! Your dress fitting is today!" I hear the shout from downstairs.

"Yes Mother." I reply, pulling myself out of bed and walking over to my window, pulling back the curtains, letting sunlight fill the room.

Unlike most homes in District One, our home has two floors. I do appreciate the privacy, I can't imagine sleeping anywhere near my Mother and Father like most of the children here do.

Although, that could be completley untrue, rumors like this are passed around from person to person in my training group.

The truth is, I've never gone to public school. My mother supposedly home schools me. That's what she tells all of her friends anyway.

In my opion, I have taught myself all that I have learned. Whenever I have spare time, I will take books from our small collection downstairs, which my father likes to think is valuble, and read for as long as I can. The content of these books can range from plant identification to romance novels. My personal favourite, is one that I found hidden behind the drawers in my room. It's been read so many times that the majority of the pages are torn, and some of them have fallen out, yellowed by age and covered in a heavy coating of dust.

It's not the storyline that draws me in though. This book is old, probably the oldest thing I have ever come across. When I pick it up, I like to imagine the past owners, and what their life was like.

More pleasant than mine, I would presume.

I sort through my growing collection of clothes. Of course, my mother wants me to look my best at all times, but that involves frilly, fancy, and most of the time, ridiculous outfits.

On the other hand, I want to dress normally, so that I can blend in with the crowd when we head into town. I absolutely despise when people laugh at me just because of the way I am forced to dress by my inconsiderate parents.

I find a loose, cream coloured sweater, which I adore as it is about the only comfortable item of clothing I have if you exclude my pajamas, and a floral skirt. My mother does not let me wear trousers, she likes me to look feminine. According to her, anything that's not a skirt, is not suitable for me to wear in public.

She has also been forcing me to wear heels latley, telling me that I must practice.

I tie my hair in a loose plait on one side, and sigh as I stare at myself in the mirror.

The girl I see, is not the girl that I want to be. I've never got the chance to be myself, my descisions have always been made for me.

I feel fake.

I check myself over a final time, making sure I am my mother's image of the perfect daughter.

I've always been told that I'm the most beautiful person alive by my small circle of family and so called friends. I do realise that when it comes to Capitol standards, I am certainly pretty, yet, when it comes to my own standards, I hate the way I look.

My honey blonde hair falls to my waist in perfect waves, my skin doesn't have a single imperfection, my eyes are huge in proportion to my face, a deep brown colour. I am not noticably tall, and not noticably short. I'm just... average. However, I am noticably skinny. The diet my mother keeps me on is horrendous. I'm sure the poorest people in our district eat more food than me.

My mother has turned me into a living doll, and I am unhappy with how I look.

"Quinn! We need to go, or we'll be late! Hurry up now!" comes the voice from downstairs.

I sigh, and step back from the mirror, before walking out of my room, closing the door behind me.

I rush down the stairs as fast as I can in the ridiculous heels I am wearing, past my father who is sitting at the table, and to my mother, who is waiting impatiently at the door.

"It's about time!" she sighs, looking me up and down. "I guess it will do." she gestures to my outfit, before opening the door, and letting me out of the house first.

"Thank you Mother." I say quietly, waiting for her to lock the door behind us.

"You need to speak up, daughter, or nobody will be able to hear you when you get to the Capitol!" she scolds me, before setting off down the lane.

I follow her, trying desperatley to stay balanced in my heels.

"Are you excited about the reaping Quinn?" she asks from on front of me. I start to walk a little faster, so that I can catch up with her. There is no chance she would ever slow down for me.

"Yes Mother, of course I am." I lie through my teeth. I feel many things about the reaping, and excited is not one of them.

"Good. I trust you have been excelling in training. Your father tells me all about how wonderful you are." she smiles.

"Yes Mother, I have been working hard."

"Your dress is going to be beautiful this year. You must make sure you are chosen this year. You were so close last year." she sighs, turning around and shooting me a threatening look. I try not to look scared.

"I shall try my best Mother."

"TRYING IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH QUINN!" She yells, stopping and turning to me, putting a firm hand on my shoulder, her long nails acting like tallons, digging into my skin. I recoil in fear. "You MUST be chosen this year." she spits, before letting me go.

"Yes Mother." I whisper, a chill running down my spine.

"Louder Quinn!" she says.

"Yes Mother." This time, I try to say it with a little more confidence.

We are quiet for a while after that. I have some time to regain ability of speech over that time, but I do not dare to talk.

We are almost there anyway, we have made it into the maketplace. There are many stalls set up on the street, and smoke hangs in the air around us. Peacekeepers lurk around every corner, making sure there is no illegal trade. It is not uncommon to hear gunshots ringing out across the streets.

The loud chatter dies down as we walk through the cobbled streets, and people turn to stare. I see a group of young boys pointing at my shoes, a group of older girls whispering to one another and a mother carrying her two children away from us, a look of disgust on her face.

An elderly man even spits at our feet.

I keep my head down and try to ignore them, but my mother notices.

"Head up, Quinn." she hisses to me.

I look up, and straight ahead, trying to block out the people around us.

We eventually come across a small store, the window frames and door painted a deep green colour, a small sign hung above the door that reads

_Seamstress' and General Supplies_

My Mother is good friends with the owner of this store, Lorelle. It's not surprising really, considering the fact that my she is probably the main source of income.

We push open the door, setting off a little bell. I am relieved to have escaped the market.

"Ah! Quinn Harper and Louise. It's been a long time. Come in, come in."

**So, that was chapter two. It just shows what Quinn has to put up with, and how horrible her mother is. I have to go now, my laptop is running out of charge!**

**Thank yoy again to anyone who has been reading so far, I would really appreciate it if you left a review!**

**Next chapter should be up soon.**

**BethanyDee x x**


	3. Chapter Three - Endurance

**Okay, so we're on to chapter three. I'm really sorry for the long wait, I try not to let these kind of things happen, but I've just been really busy. It's unavoidable really, I don't have much time on my hands at the moment.**

**Anyway, I'm back, and I'm writing again, hopefully anyway.**

**Thank you for continuing to read...**

**Chapter Three - Endurance**

Lorelle comes across as genuinley friendly to anyone who enters her store, but I can tell that she is using personality as a way of earning money. I must admit, she is quite the actress, and not everyone can see through her act. The select few that can do not dare to suggest anything. Personally, I would not like to see Lorelle angry. At times, she reminds me of my mother. I can't help but feel sorry for her son, Luke. He reminds me of myself, in a way. Although reserved and somewhat shy, I can see the fire burning in his eyes, passionate and opinionated. I would like to introduce myself to him, I have attempted to once before. My father wasn't best pleased. For now, we can only exchange glances from afar when nobody is looking, and tell eachother how we are feeling with body language. I feel like we've had hundreds of secret conversations, and I consider him a friend. Our silence speaks a thousand words. Unlike most of the people in this district, Luke seems very genuine, honest and down to earth. If he's upset, he won't hide it from me.

Today, Luke stands behind the main desk, playing absent-mindedly with a piece of thread. I see his eyes brighten a little as he notices me walking in. I glance at my mother, then back to him. Just from that little gesture, he can tell I've not had a brilliant day so far. He shrugs slightly. He's been bored.

Lorelle guides us past the desk, and into the larger part of the store, through the rails of clothes, sitting gathering dust due to their hefty price tags. The building is not very well lit, the light from the sun that manages to make it's way through the clouded glass of the windows is used instead of gas lamps or candles. Here, no buisnesses that I know of have access to electricity, and even if they did, they most certainly would not be able to pay the bills.

We reach the back of the building, a solid brick wall, no window in sight, making it quite dark. This place has a rather creepy, abandoned feel. The bare floorboards add to the effect, as do the dust motes floating in the air and the cobwebs in the corners.

Lorelle pulls out a chair for my mother, leaving me to stand, and muttering under her breath about not having enough chairs, before climbing a narrow, almost vertical flight of stairs that may as well be a ladder, into the storeroom.

My mother is quite obviously excited about my reaping dress.

"You are going to look like a real lady, Quinn. The people of the Capitol are going to adore you." she smiles, clasping her hands together in delight.

"I would assume that you're confident in your own dress sense then." I smirk.

"Excuse me?" She raises her eyebrows.

"I was just complementing your choice of lipstick today, Mother." I say, keeping my face straight. That was the very thing I was making fun of. Today, her lips are a shade of purple that reminds me of a bruise.

"Oh, why thank you Quinn. I'm glad that you're finally starting to take an interest in fashion." she says, giving me a look that implies, _Mother knows best._

It's a miracle that I don't start laughing uncontrollably. Instead of looking up to my mother, I think of her as a pretentious, complacent, arrogant woman stuck in her teenage years, unfit for parenting. Naturally, I don't have much respect for her, as she does not have much for me.

I make many mistakes when it comes to talking back to my parents, though, I can form excuses and cover-ups quickly.

Lorelle emerges from the darkness of the storage room, and walks straight towards me, before handing me a cream coloured dress that is smooth and cool against my skin, instructing me to be careful when putting it on.

She pushes me rather aggressively towards the one and only fitting room, closing the curtain, leaving me looking at myself in the mirror again.

It's a relief to be able to take off the heels, having my feet flat on the ground is a rare pleasure. Kicking them to the side, I decide to examine the dress that Lorelle has given me.

It's made of a cream coloured, satin like material. The skirt is seemingly knee kength, which I am pleased about. Last year, I had to wear a full length gown in the sweltering heat. This dress seems a little... Lighter. Although, it does still have a petticoat. I've always hated petticoats. Another thing I'm not overjoyed about is the full length sleeves.

The back is simple, with traditional buttons all the way down to the skirt, where a bow is placed.

The dress is very fitted, quite obviously made to my measurements. I assume that I'll have to wear a corset.

My suspicions are comfired when I unbutton the dress, revealing an inbuilt corset. I sigh in frustration. Corsets, in my opinion, are most uncomfortable, and unnecessary. I shall have to get my mother to lace it up for me.

Eventually, I manage to pull up the dress, and call on my mother for assistance with the corset. I wait for a while, nervously pacing the small space before she appears, telling me to breathe in while she deals with my dress. It does hurt, the dress now feels like it is limiting my movement, and my breathing. It seems like everyone's goal in life is to make me feel uncomfortable.

She steps back to admire her work, and a smile spreads across her face. It doesn't suit her at all, her facial features seem to have been designed to frown. Permanently. She looks slightly unhinged when she smiles.

"You look like you stepped straight out of the Capitol, my darling. How you remind me of myself."

I hate it when she compares me to herself. Honestly, I think I'm completley diffrent from her. Instead of showing how offended I am, I just stare into the mirror blankly.

She pulls my hair out of it's loose plait, and I try to ignore the pain. It feels like a pin has been put into every hair follicle.

Dealing with pain, emotional and physical, is something that I would say I'm quite good at. It's nothing to be proud of though.

"Lorelle, you have made a brilliant dress! My daughter shall be the capitol darling!" my Mother exclaims.

She proceeds to admire me for what seems like an awkwardly long period of time, before helping me pull the dress off.

Once I am dressed in what my Mother calls 'Normal clothes' again, we make our way to the desk, where my mother pays for the dress with a generous amount of bank notes, which Lorelle, of course, is quite obviously overjoyed with.

"Mother, is it really a good idea to carry that much money around with you? Anybody could have taken it when we were walking though the market. You know how skilled the pickpockets are." I say, genuinley concerned, for a few seconds. As my mother turns to face me, the feeling of concern fades, and is replaced by fear.

We make our way out of the store, walking briskly through the market, and towards our house. Or so I think.

Just as soon as we are out of the market area, and the loud chatter has faded into the distance, my mother grabs me by the shoulder and forces me into a dark alleyway, where she pins me up against a wall, still holding the dress in one hand.

"You embarrassed me in front of Lorelle and her son. You have no excuses young lady." she hisses.

She knows this is risky. Not only is it illegal, but I could easily escape from her grasp at any second. I will not attempt to however, as that will result in even more severe punishments. Right now, I just have to reason and endure. This is a fairly regular routine.

"Mother, I was only trying to keep you safe..." I start.

She is ignoring me, I can tell. She doesn't care about what I have to say, my opinions are invalid. In her mind, the only thing I deserve is punishment.

"DON'T YOU DARE ARGUE WITH ME MISS HARPER!" she yells, hitting me, hard across the face. My eyes are filled with unshed tears, and my face is stinging.

"You will apologise right this second." she hisses, her voice low and menacing. She now holds me by the neck of my jumper.

"Yes Mother. I made a mistake. I'm terribly sorry." I whisper a single tear escaping and rolling down my cheek.

"You shall not cry, it is a sign of weakness. When we arrive home, I do not wish to speak to you. You shall stay in your bedroom until your father requires you to train."

I open the door to my bedroom, spending the free time I have before training wisely. Being locked in my room isn't much of a punishment. If my mother knew about all of the books I keep hidden up here, she most certainly would confiscate them. She knows how much I enjoy reading, and since her ambition in life seems to be making me as miserable as possible, she would probably burn them after confiscating them.

I pick up the book I have been reading, and sit down on my bed, trying to focus.

Eventually, I find myself utterly drawn in. I am no longer locked up in my room, trapped in the cruel world of Panem. I am walking the streets of a suburb, admiring the perfect houses, watching the children play in the nearby park, their musical laughter drifting into my ears, almost hauntingly.

Laughter. The sound I rarely heard or made as a child.

I put the book down, and stare at the ceiling, my heart heavy.

I suppose, if the way I live was the only way I had ever known of, I would be more content with my existence, born to serve the Capitol.

Yet, books have given me an ideal world. A world that was real, many years ago. I know that the way I am living now, is, well...horrible. That is the only way I can word it. Yet, it's hard to imagine living differently. I can't imagine living in a world where everything amazing is taken for granted, sometimes even wasted.

For now, my only escape from this cruel world is books, and I'll have to be content with that for now.

**So, that was chapter three! I hope you guys enjoyed, and I would really appreciate it if you could leave a review.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**BethanyDee x x**


	4. Chapter Four - Practice

**Sorry I haven't updated for so long, I couldn't log into the website as my browser was outdated. However, I've updated it now, and I can start uploading again. In the time inbetween updating browsers, I was able to note down exactly what I wanted to happen in the story, as well as making sketches of all the characters. It's all planned now.**

**So, here goes nothing. Well, I won't make this introduction any longer.**

**Chapter Four - Practice**

I lean out of my small open window, resting my head in my hands, and leaning against the sun warmed tiles that cover the roof. It feels wonderful to get some fresh air. It also feels wonderful to be surrounded by silence. The light smell of wild flowers fills my nostrils as I inhale deeply.

In my opinion, there is not very many spectacular sights in District One. Unless, of course, you count decrepit buildings, amongst other things. At first glance, my home seems to be without beauty. However, with time, I have learned to discover and appreciate beautiful things. Sadly, such things are so rare. Some, we take for granted, such as, the sunset, or the flowers that grow in the meadows.

I close my eyes, breathing in the last of what has been a long day. Though Summer is not my favourite season, I must admit, there is something spectacular about the late sunsets that nature puts on display, seemingly, just for me to admire. I have found myself watching sunsets more frequently recently. They have a rather calming effect on me. They soothe me, and take away my problems, my worries, my nerves. Even if only for a few minutes.

The sun casts an orange haze above the horizon, as if lit by fire, yet crisp and clear. It is masked slightly by wispy clouds, splashed with reds and oranges, so large that I feel I can almost touch it. It has shined for the time it has been given, so it sinks lower and lower in a lazy manner; almost as if it dosen't want to leave.

I know that I too have to leave soon. I stand up straight, inhaling the last of the fresh air, before closing my window slowly, making sure that the un-oiled hinges don't make any noises. If they did, I would surely be caught. My mother forbids me participating in any un-ladylike activities, such as, leaning out of windows, so punishment would surely follow if I were to be found like this.

I stand for a second, staring through the glass out into the sunset, my hand pressed against the thin glass, my heart longs for freedom.

I'm not sure of the exact time that training will start tonight, but I may as well start getting ready. I manage to find the uniform that we must wear, in a crumpled heap at the bottom of my wardrobe. I gather up each item of clothing, and try to smooth them out as best I can. Surely nobody will notice a slight crease.

A few minutes is all it takes for me to get ready. I find myself in front of the mirror, staring blankly. I am dressed in black from head to toe. The fabric clings to my skin, showing my supposedly desirable figure. My hair is tied back in a neat bun, kept out of my face. I would prefer for my hair to be short, but my mother would never allow it. I don't dare to even bring up such a topic .

I cannot describe how much I hate training. The thought of practicing various methods that I could use to kill people.. It's sickening. To me at least. The people I train with seem to enjoy it though. They are the closest thing I have to friends, so I refrain from commenting. If I was able to choose, no, I would not socialise with them, but I can't pick who I become friends with. That is yet another aspect of my life that my parents have tight control over.

They all seem to be quite content with the fact that they are most probably going to murder at least one innocent child if their dream of being chosen to participate in the games comes true. I have thought about this a lot. They were not born this way. Their parents have twisted their minds, made them the people they are today. And what brutal, selfish people they are. In a way, I believe that they reflect their parent's personalities.

I refuse to believe that I am one of these people. At least, on the inside. While they are confident and strong, I am not. I may be able to act like I am a confident young woman, but that is an act. A lie, a facade. These people could easily take somebody's life. I would regret it for the rest of my days. I may not show that regret on my face, but I can assure you, that I would feel it.

And yet, I am labeled by society as a monster. If only they could know what I was really thinking, deep down inside.

I despise my life sometimes.

"Quinn Harper! Downstairs this instant!" I hear my Father's booming voice echoing through the house. I was certainly right to get ready early.

"Yes Father!" I shout, my voice ringing clear. I can't afford to do anything wrong tonight. I must speak clearly, act confidently, and train without fault, for if I do not, there will be consequences.

I leave my room, closing my door behind me, and make my way downstairs. My father is waiting for me in the kitchen, leaning against the table, his intimidatingly muscular arms folded across his chest.

He doesn't say a word as he stands up. I keep my head up, and try not to shy away from him, as my instincts tell me to.

"Goodbye Mother." I smile pleasantly as I walk out out of the front door, which my father is holding open for me.

"I expect you to do well." she says, the same threatening undertone in her voice.

"Yes Mother." I say as confidently as I can, before my father closes the door. We soon begin the long walk down the lane.

"Father, how many days exactly is it until the reaping?" I ask, trying not to show how nervous I am.

"Ten days Quinn. I expect you to volunteer this year." he replies, his voice unnecessarily loud.

"Yes Father."

We walk in silence for a while, the only noise is our footsteps against the gritty surface of the widening path.

I desperatley search my mind for something to say before my father brings up any of today's previous events.

"Have you thought of a name for the baby yet?" I ask. A light topic, designed to distract.

"Actually, we have. Your mother and I are convinced that the baby is a boy, and our favourite name at the moment is Theodore."

A genuine smile spreads across my face.

"That is a wonderful choice Father. I do love that name." I look up at him. "But what if the baby is a girl? Have you thought of any names?" I ask tentatively, not wanting to upset him. I know that he truly does want a son.

"The thought has crossed my mind. Your mother likes the name Bronwyn." he pauses for a second, "If that is the name she likes, that is what the baby shall be named, if it does turn out to be a girl, which in my opinion, is unlikely."

I nod thoughtfully, and look straight ahead, avoiding eye contact.

The sun hasn't fully set, it's just starting to get dark. I can stare into the setting sun, and my eyes do not burn, and so, I do.

We are approaching the field in which we train. It is almost perfectly level, previously used for farming. Now, however, it has been claimed by us. The careers. Nobody dares to set foot on it when we are nearby.

People are already waiting for us. From what I can count, everyone.

Nine figures, dark against the fiery colour of the sky.

Yes, that's everyone.

They are talking quietly amongst themselves, but as soon as my Father and I approach, they are quiet.

Not only does my Father train me, he also trains the other nine careers from my district. Wolf, Ingrid, Bounty, Iona, Scarlett, Finlay, Nikita, Leo, and Berry.

"Good evening sir." they say, all at once.

My father just nods, not even a word towards them. We organise ourselves into a line, chins high.

"Today, I want you to practice hand to hand combat. I know that this," he says, looking at me directly, "Is a weak point for many of you. So you must improve. Practice this for forty five minutes exactly. Then, I will give you something else to do." he says, waving dismissively.

We all nod, and spread out across the field.

Almost immedietly, Wolf approaches me. He is a tall, very muscualr boy, with a seemingly naturally angry face. He used to intimidate me. That was years ago. He knew what he was good at as soon as he started training alongside me, at age six. Hand to hand combat. I did not find my strong points until I was about eight years old. However, one thing I did know from a young age, was that hand to hand combat, is not for me.

Yes, I may be able to take out somebody of average strength, but nobody in this group is even near average. They exceed average by a large margin.

"Wolf." I say, folding my arms across my chest and raising an eyebrow as he walks towards me. I am at least a foot shorter than him.

"Quinn." he nods. "Ready to get your ass kicked once again?"

"Please," I scoff, rolling my eyes and running a hand through my hair. "Begin. I'm sure it will be an enjoyable experience."

I see him smile slightly, before he makes the first move, throwing himself towards me. I manage to roll out of the way, just in time, before trying to pin him to the ground by sitting on his back. Unfortunately, I am not heavy enough, thanks to the diet my mother keeps me on.

When he stands up, I am still clinging to his shoulders, my legs wrapped tightly around his body. There's nothing he can do to get me off of him. Or so I think.

He begins to fall backwards, and just before I am crushed between him and the ground, I jump away from him, letting him hit the ground. He stands back up as if nothing happened, before easily pinning me down and placing his hands just where they need to be.

"You're dead. I've killed you, once again, Miss Harper." he says, tightening his grip, his hands on my neck. He could easily snap it. He is right, if I was in the games right now, I would be gone for sure.

My breathing is fast and panicked, I feel like he is never going to let go. Finally, he does, and I scramble to my feet, unbalanced, struggling to stay upright. I can hear my own heartbeat, surely not a good sign.

He holds out his hand to shake. I just shake my head and sigh, still struggling to breathe properly.

"What a bad sport. That attitude will get you nowhere in life you know." he smiles and shakes his head slightly as he turns and walks away. "Your Father will be disappointed. "

I stand for a few seconds, trying to calm myself down, before going to find somebody else to practice with. However, there is no easy target here. I find myself wandering towards Iona, a tall, lanky girl, who is the picture of a career tribute.

"Quinn." she smiles as she sees me approaching. "How has your day been?"

"I must admit, it has not been perfect." I sigh.

"Your parents give you a hard time too?" she asks, her eyes all too knowing.

I don't respond.

We proceed to fight, until, somehow, I find myself with my hands on her neck.

I immedietly let go of her and stumble backwards, in slight shock.

"Did I... just win?" I ask, out of breath and flustered.

"Yes, you did. Congratulations. You're improving." Iona smiles. I can see the envy in her eyes.

After my unexpected victory, I proceed to lose just about every other fight. My father is shooting me disapproving looks from across the field, I can tell.

He calls us back to where he is standing, and to my relief, mentions nothing about the results.

"Most of you did very well. Especially Wolf, undefeated I believe." he turns to where Wolf is standing for a second, and gives him a slight nod of approval.

"Now, I would like you to practice archery. I have set up targets at the other side of the field. I shall put you in pairs, so that you may evaluate eachother." he says. I cannot keep back the smile that spreads across my face.

"As soon as you are with a partner, you may go. Ingrid, Bounty..." he begins to call out names, seemingly at random. They are not random though, I can tell that these are calculated moves. I know then, that my fate is sealed.

"...Scarlett and Finaly, leaving, ah, Quinn and Wolf. I expect you back here in thirty minutes exactly." my Father says.

We walk in silence to the targets. I pick up the bow first, running my fingers over the smooth wood, before pushing the sheath of arrows over my shoulder.

"What were you saying about being superior to me in every way?" I ask sweetly, looking up into his eyes and holding his gaze.

"Just shoot." he sighs.

I do what comes naturally, standing with my feet slightly apart, holding the bow perfectly straight, the arrow in place. I pull back, closing one eye, and let go. The arrow flies straight.

A perfect shot. Another. Another.

I place the bow in Wolf's outstretched hands, and give him the remaining arrows. He does not have even a single word to say to me.

I guess I just can't stand people like Wolf. His world must revolve around the games. People like him bring out the worst in me.

After collecting the arrows, we make our way back. Father decides that we have done enough for tonight. And so, we say goodbye to eachother, and head our seperate ways, disappearing one by one into the darkness.

My Father and I make our way back home, once again, in silence. It's terrifying, yet blissful at the same time. Though, mostly terrifying. A little like my life. We approach the front door after what seems like an eternity, and open it slowly, just in case Mother is asleep. I am grateful to be home.

It's been a long day.

**So yeah, that was chapter four. Thak you for reading, please leave a review, they really help me out. By the way, just because Quinn is good at archery does not mean she will be anything like Katniss. I chose archery because I actually do archery, and I have done it since a very young age.**

**BethanyDee x x**


	5. Chapter Five - Stargazing

**Sorry that it took a while for me to write these chapters. I have a lot going on with school at the moment. Homework, exams, that sort of thing. Hopefully I will be able to update my other story too. Again, the website is being a pain in the neck and will not let me upload files directly. **

**Thank you guys so much for reading.**

**Chapter Five - Stargazing**

As soon as I open the door to my bedroom, I know that I will be unable to sleep. Instead of falling back onto my bed and waiting until sleep finally comes, like I usually do, I kick off the boots that have been weighing down my feet all night, and make my way over to my drawers, where I keep most of my belongings. I pull out my leather bound notebook, pencil, and pen knife.

I then walk towards my window, careful of where I am stepping, as the worn floorboards will creak under the slightest circumstances. I make it to the window without alerting my Mother or Father.

I know that my Mother shall be asleep by this time, but my Father will be downstairs, sitting alone in the kitchen or beside the fire, drinking some sort of alcoholic beverage. His hearing is keen, and my bedroom is situated above the kitchen, so I must be careful.

I insert the key into the keyhole, and twist it slowly, wincing as the window creaks open the slightest bit. I stand, waiting for the shouting to begin.

Nothing happens. The house is just as silent as it was before.

I let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding, and push the window open a little more. Just enough.

I pull myself up onto the windowsill with little effort, balancing between my bedroom and the roof.

A tiny voice in the back of my head is trying to convince me to obey my parent's orders.

I block it out, and push myself out into the night.

The tiles are cold and I can hardly see where I am placing my hands. The thick, velvet night, however beautiful it may be, always finds a way to be inconvenient.

I make my way further up, the gentle, sloping angle poses no threat. I finally decide that I have climbed high enough, and lie on my front, using my hands to support my head. I know that I am looking straight out towards the meadow, not that I can see much of it.

The moonlight gives me tender glimpses of my familliar home, which when enveloped in darkness, looks very diffrent.

Bright stars take the place of towering chimneys, turning them into dark silhouettes against the even darker sky. At night, you cannot tell that they are in a state of disrepair.

"I should do this more often." I whisper to myself, letting out a small chuckle, before remembering thst stargazing is not the only reason I have disobeyed my parent's clear orders and climbed onto the roof.

I look down to my notebook, the soft cover worn by age. My pencil needs to be sharpened. Again.

It is no problem though. There is a reason I own a pen knife.

I open the book, flipping through pages upon pages of sketches and completed drawings. I would like to think of myself as an artist, of some sort anyway.

I never show anybody my drawings. They are for my eyes, and my eyes only. They are characters, from stories I have thought of, a record of my thoughts really. I started this when I was a young girl. Of course, I never had time to write any of them down. And so, I began to draw, teaching myself, obviously.

I still don't have time to write any of my stories down. I have even less time. From what I can tell, my time is running out.

I find a blank page and begin to write. Slowly at first, it takes me a while to think of what I would like to say. This is important, and it cannot be rushed.

_To my future brother or sister._

_Hello. My name is Quinn Harper and I am, or was, your sister._

_You will only find this notebook if I have died._

_Our parents probably never told you about me. If I were you, I wouldn't ask them about me. They will most likely react in a foul manner._

_This is because, if I am dead, they will see me as a failure._

_Like you, I was trained as a career tribute from a very young age. I am volunteering for the games this year, at age seventeen. This is why I am writing this letter to you, as I will most likely be chosen for the games this year, and I cannot tell you in person if I die, which I am predicting, I will._

_I want to tell you that you don't have to be the person that you are told to be. I pray that you do not become a bloodthirsty, soulless career. I can promise you, that you will be unhappy if you choose that life._

_Mother and Father have forced this lifestyle upon me. I started thinking independent thoughts when it was too late. You need to start thinking like this now. I am trying to help you._

_There are other things in this life besides wealth and fame. For example, my dream is to be normal. What I would give to live with one of those starving families. Yes, they may be skinny, yes, they may have to share a one room house with six other family members, but whenver I see them, I am jealous. I am jealous of their happiness. Jealous of how contempt they are._

_How I would love for you to be that happy._

_Please, do what you feel is right. Fight back against Mother and Father from the very beginning. Make sure they know that you are in control of your life._

_Lastly, promise me that you will never volunteer. No matter how much they threaten you. Trust me, I went through the abuse too. Just remember, that one day, it will be okay._

_Your sister,_

_Quinn Harper, Age Seventeen._

I sigh and close my notebook, turning onto my back and staring into the sky. The sheer amount of stars in the sky is almost dizzying. Despite the cold night air, the roof is surprisingly comfortable. My plans to go back inside drift off in the soft breeze.

My eyelids begin to feel incredibly heavy, and before I know it, I am asleep.

**So yeah, that was chapter five. The website is letting me upload again, for now. I wouldn't be surprised if I come across another problem. So, if I don't upload for a while, that is probably why. Thank you for reading!**

**BethanyDee x x**


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